


Nothing Else Matters

by panickedbee



Series: Sherlock Holmes Is A Very Lucky Man [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Rimming, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, Smut, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-17 11:23:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9321275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/panickedbee/pseuds/panickedbee
Summary: When John Watson took his face in his rough but gentle hands and kissed him for the first time, his frightened mind got the chance to slow down andrest. And getting over those internal fears eventually saved his life.





	

Sherlock has always seen himself as someone who is very in control of a situation. He has to be. He has trained himself to be for decades, and it was hard work and led to a very lonely life at times. When he met John, he was scared at first. Or worried, rather. More and more often he felt himself slipping out of this carefully constructed bubble of self-defence and cold logic. He found himself laughing with John. _Giggling_ at crime scenes. Stealing for him. Getting upset, sulky because of him. And when he started considering, hesitantly and secretly considering what it would be like to give up his barrier of control and the pretence of having no heart at all (something his brother had almost managed to make him believe he had to do - cutting his own heart out, metaphorically), he was terrified at first. But when John Watson took his face in his rough but gentle hands and kissed him for the first time, his frightened mind got the chance to slow down and _rest_. And getting over those internal fears eventually saved his life.

When they were together his mind got the breaks that he has not allowed himself to take in _years_. Not since he has stopped taking drugs. (The times he got high before John’s final divorce don’t count as breaks. They were helpless anchors in a roaring storm, only causing his ship to go down eventually.) Every time they kiss, his whole world just stops and he can feel nothing else but John anymore. Nothing else matters. It’s a blessing. He always thought that the work was what mattered most in his life - but it was just the distraction for his loneliness, a replacement for the drugs. No. What really matters is…

…John teases him relentlessly, just wants to hear him moan louder, wants his legs to tremble harder, Sherlock knows this, but he can’t stop giving him just that. They’ve done this before, lots of times, but this time it’s different. John’s hands wander up and down his hot thighs, all the blood in his body heads south and his untouched cock must be burning from it. It’s throbbing on top of his belly, and his breathing is shallow and fast, causing the head to rub against skin. The sensation is not nearly enough, and he lets out a long-suffering groan that ends on a note so high that his voice almost breaks. As John starts kissing the skin of his inner thigh, his eyes fly open from the sweetness of it, the huge wave of arousal, the _not enough not enough more_.

He whimpers. John chuckles. “It’s alright, Sherlock, breathe,” he soothes in a rough voice. But Sherlock can feel John’s own rapid breathing against his hip. It’s sweet teasing and even more arousing because he knows John wants him just as much. Just that he is better at holding himself back. This is _his_ playground. Sherlock can accept that John knows what to do here, and he can allow himself to give in to this. To put all his trust in John. To trust him when he suddenly places both his hands underneath Sherlock’s thighs and slides them upwards. Up, up, until they are the barrier between his cheeks and the mattress, and Sherlock swallows a gasp as those hands grab hard flesh and muscles, part his cheeks and stretch the skin around his hole.

Sherlock tries to press his lips together, but inhales and exhales come so fast and his heart is pounding so hard that he has to breathe through his mouth. And _my God_ , the noises he makes! He knows it’s filthy. He knows he can’t control himself anymore. To be reduced to something so primal, led by the sheer desire to be pleasured, is both unsettling and immensely… _hot_. His body has apparently decided to ignore the unsettlement and pump even more blood from his brain into his pulsing cock. He is going absolutely mad like this. All of a sudden, he feels the cold of John’s nose against his shaft and bites his bottom lip so hard that he almost draws blood.

“No, Sherlock, love. Don’t hold it back. Let me hear you.” He feels John’s hot breath against his now leaking cock and immediately answers his desires by letting out a long moan. It’s too much. Too much teasing. He needs to feel him. _Now_.

But the only thing that will come out of his mouth, the only word he can make his dizzy brain think of is, “John!”, so he says it, over and over again, “John, John, _John_ ,” and hopes that he’ll understand.

John seems to understand, but when Sherlock thinks he will finally put this wonderful mouth around him, he only places a kiss to one of his testicles, and that makes his whole body shudder. Then he moves down. Before Sherlock can even so much as comprehend what is happening to him, John pulls his arse cheeks farther apart with his hands and suddenly there is a hot tongue against his perineum and a loud cry fills his ears. Only later on he realises that it’s his own desperate voice that fills the room, along with the wet noises of John’s tongue moving against one of the most sensitve spots of his body. The tremor in his thighs returns, harder now, every exhale is a groan, and his hands search for something to grasp.

John’s tongue flicks into his hole and Sherlock almost comes on the spot. His legs fall open even wider, and he feels his fingers clench as they try to hold onto the short strands of John’s hair. He doesn’t seem to mind, is even encouraged by it, and his tongue dips deeper into him. The head of Sherlock’s cock rubs against his belly with every heavy breath he takes, smeared in precome, and he has to, he has to come. His whole body is on fire, his heart will explode in his ribcage, and John’s tongue and fingers are relentless.

He tries to tell John, but he doesn’t even know what to do, what to say, so his mouth has decided on the words before his brain can catch up, and it’s just “John, John, John, oh, _please_ , _god, John_ ,” while he tries not to die from the overload of pleasure and the lack of air.

John talks in between kisses around his quivering hole, “Shh, let go, Sherlock, I’ve got you. Touch yourself now, I’ve got you.”

The hot breath on his skin and the soothing words almost move him to tears. He removes one of his hands from the back of John’s head and neck and wraps it around his cock. Now he can feel how hard he is, how little it would take to make him come, and somehow that gets him even closer to the edge. The sudden pleasure of touching himself is so much and just not enough, and he strokes faster and faster while John’s tongue licks around his hole, dips in and out, and his hands massage his cheeks, and when John closes his lips and _sucks,_ the pleasure tips over and he comes and comes, long and hard in waves of white noise.

Later, as he lies boneless in John’s arms and he holds him close and protective, he knows that he would always give up a little bit of his control to be with him. Because it’s all that will ever matter.


End file.
